then.’
The men drained their cups and stood, some of them pulling up their hoods like Cato, so that he would not stand out. The man with his Praetorian cloak put it on and went to sit with Macro, his back to the entrance. Macro poured him a cup of the wine that had been placed on the table a moment earlier. The fullers headed for the doorway and noisily made their farewell to the innkeeper. Then, with Cato in their midst, they strolled outside into the square and made for a small alley leading up into the Subura district. That suited Cato well enough, and he joined in their banter, laughing along when someone made a crude joke about the innkeeper’s wife. All the while he kept shooting quick glances at the doorways and side alleys leading off the square. Nothing moved except for a mangy dog trotting from one pile of refuse to the next. Cato stayed with the group of fullers as they left the square and walked up a narrow alley squeezed between the crumbling tenement blocks of Rome’s poorest district. Then, as the alley turned a corner, he patted the stocky man on the shoulder and muttered, ‘I’ll take my leave of you here.’ He handed over the rest of the coins. ‘My thanks to you.’
The fuller’s face was all but invisible in the dark alley as he replied, ‘Give my regards to that lady of yours.’
‘That I will.’
‘And you can hand back Porcinus’s cloak to me as well.’
Cato doubted that Porcinus would ever see his cloak again if he surrendered it now. ‘I haven’t finished with it yet. I’ll give it back to him when I return to the inn.’
‘All right then,’ the fuller responded quietly. ‘Come on, lads.’
Cato backed into an arched doorway as the sound of footsteps padded off over the dirt and refuse that coated the alley. He stood quite still, hardly daring to breathe, until the sound of the fullers faded away against the background noises of the city: occasional shouts and the shrill wail of hungry infants and the clatter of window shutters. He waited longer, to be sure that no one had followed them into the alley. At length Cato eased himself out of the doorway and cautiously made his way to the street where the safe house was. He stopped a short distance from the block and waited again, until he judged that no one was watching the entrance, from the outside at least. Then he crossed the street to the entrance and ducked inside the narrow doorway.
The rank odour of sweat and boiled vegetables filled the darkened stairwell. He trod as lightly as he could on the wooden steps but they creaked alarmingly as he climbed. He heard muted voices from behind some of the doors, and inconsolable sobbing from another. Then he was approaching the fourth storey. Cato slowed, his heart pounding from the climb, and the tension. A thin ray of moonlight shone through an opening in the wall, piercing the gloom and provided faint illumination. There seemed to be no movement on the landing and Cato went to the door and reached for the latch. And froze.
It was the faintest of sounds, like cotton rasping lightly on wood. The sound of a breath being drawn. Cato fumbled with the catch as his right hand dropped to his side and stealthily drew out the dagger from the sheath beneath his cloak. There was a rustle and a rush of footsteps on the stairs above. Cato spun round, throwing back his hood with his spare hand while the other thrust the dagger forward, ready to strike. He caught a dull gleam in the shaft of moonlight and realised that the other man was armed as well. He had his back to the light and his face was in darkness as he stumbled to a halt a short distance beyond Cato’s reach.
‘Stay back!’ Cato hissed. ‘Drop the knife!’
There was tense silence for a beat and then the other man lowered his blade and returned it to its sheath with a soft click. He descended the last two steps to the landing and into the faint light.
‘Septimus …’ Cato let out a deep sigh and his shoulders sagged in relief. ‘Bloody scared the shit out of me.’
Narcissus’s agent chuckled nervously. ‘You didn’t do too badly yourself. Now let’s get inside.’
Once the oil lamp had been lit the two men sat on the bedrolls either side of the pale yellow flame. Septimus had brought some bread and sausage with him wrapped in a fold of cloth and stuffed in his side bag. He offered some to Cato and the two ate from time to time as they talked.
‘I got the message that you wanted to make a report,’ said Septimus, gesturing to the hiding place beneath the floorboards. ‘There’s been a few developments at the palace that Narcissus thinks you should know about. That’s why I’m here. Been waiting for nearly two days.’
‘Why were you waiting on the stairs?’
‘Never pays to shut yourself in a room without any way out. Now, what did you have to report?’
Cato related the details of the meeting he had had with Sinius earlier on and Septimus frowned. ‘He wants you to kill Lurco? But why? He’s one of their men. One of their ringleaders, according to the man we interrogated. It doesn’t make sense.’
‘Unless Lurco has done something to compromise their plans.’
‘Yes, that’s true. It’s never a bad thing to cut out the weak links in the chain.’
Cato could not help smiling at the euphemism. Septimus was clearly the creature of the imperial secretary, and just as ruthless. He brushed the thought aside and decided to voice his doubts.
‘I’ve had some time to study Lurco and I can’t say that he strikes me as the conspirator type. He lacks the nerve to see something like that through.’
‘Then he’s a cowardly traitor,’ Septimus sneered.
‘But do the Liberators strike you as being cowardly? They may hide in the shadows but it takes courage to oppose the Emperor. They stand to lose everything if they are discovered. That takes guts. More guts than I think our Centurion Lurco has.’
Septimus was silent for a moment. ‘So what are you suggesting?’
‘That the man you questioned gave up the wrong name. To put you off the scent. I’m not surprised. I’d have tried to do the same in his position.’
‘Lurco is innocent then?’
‘I don’t know for certain. All I’m saying is that I find it hard to believe he could be working for the Liberators. Let’s assume that the man you interrogated was attempting to wrong-foot you. He was trying to hide the name of his true master, so he names Lurco instead, to protect Centurion Sinius.’
‘That would make sense.’ Septimus frowned. ‘But that still doesn’t explain why Sinius wants you to kill Lurco.’
‘He said it was a test.’
‘There are better ways to test you. Why pick a senior officer? Why not a ranker, someone who would not provoke nearly so much interest?’
‘Unless that’s the point,’ Cato suggested. ‘To increase the stakes and ensure that Macro and I are irrevocably committed. That said, I can’t help feeling there’s something more to the choice of target. They want Lurco out of the way for a reason, I’m sure of it.’
‘Why?’
Cato shook his head. ‘I have no clear idea. Not yet.’
Septimus folded his arms together and leant back against the cracked plaster on the wall. ‘What do you think we should do about this test of yours?’
‘I don’t see that we have a choice,’ Cato replied. ‘Not if we want to get any further in uncovering the plot. We have to do as Centurion Sinius asks.’
Septimus’s eyes widened. ‘You mean to kill Lurco?’
‘No. Of course not. But Lurco has to be removed. In such a way that it looks to Sinius that he has been killed. There’s something else you need to tell Narcissus.’
‘Oh?’
‘Sinius offered to pay me and Macro to do the job. He showed me a small chest of newly minted denarii.’
Septimus leant forward. ‘From the stolen bullion?’
‘I think so.’
‘Then there
Cato nodded. ‘Narcissus is going to have his hands full. First the conspiracy, then the food riot, and that attempt on the lives of the imperial family.’
A brief look of surprise flitted across the other man’s expression. ‘What do you mean?’
